


Occupational Hazard

by Anonymous



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Jon and Cersei are married, Open Marriage, Sansa is her personal assistant...., Smut, Threesome - F/F/M, don’t like it don’t read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25239466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Jon Snow, Cersei Lannister/Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Cersei Lannister/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 85
Collections: Anonymous





	Occupational Hazard

Sansa has morals.

She’s a good person.

She donates to charity when she has it. She gives up her seat on public transportation to pregnant women and people her grandpa’s age. She calls her parents every other day. Sometimes, she walks her neighbor’s dog.

She’s kind.

Empathetic

And most definitely  _ good. _

So she can’t exactly say how she ended up in bed with her boss’s husband. 

No. 

Yes, she can.

She remembers everything from last night. She remembers arriving at the birthday party. She remembers Cersei telling her that she looked gorgeous, and kissing her on the mouth lightly. Then she remembers  _ him— _ shaking her hand and brushing an eyelash off her cheek with his thumb. She felt like she was burning. And of course, there were drinks; two glasses of wine. Definitely not enough to excuse  _ this. _

Jon Snow’s hand is on her tit. 

He’s an aggressive cuddler, it seems. And a snorer. He’s snoring into her neck as his entire body covers hers like a warm blanket. Her first thought? Not  _ how could I do something so stupid _ , but  _ This is nice.  _

She’s that pathetic. 

The thought prompts her to disentangle herself from Jon’s arms very, very carefully. The other side of the bed is still warm, but she doesn’t have time to think about that. She’s searching— _ quietly— _ for her clothes. Her blouse is on the floor. She picks it up, and shrugs it on, not having worn a bra last night. Her slacks are strewn over a lamp, but there isn’t any point of putting those on without her panties. She spies one of her pumps, and reminds herself to come back to it later. She is  _ not  _ leaving her boss’ house without her panties. That is the most important thing, right now. After searching everywhere else, Sansa opens the bathroom door. 

And walks in on Cersei.

She’s standing under one of the many heads of the shower, humming to herself. Her blonde hair has darkened from the water, and her body is covered in soap, but not  _ that  _ covered. Sansa can see a lot: the curve of her breasts and the slope of her and miles and miles of sun kissed skin. She can see everything, really. Just like she had last night.

“Sorry.” Sansa’s cheeks flood with color, but she can’t look away. She tries her best. “I didn’t—”

“Oh, it’s you, little dove.” Cersei greets her with all of the nonchalance in the world, like they were meeting in the staff kitchen and not her bedroom the morning after a threesome. “Do you need something?”

“I was just looking for my clothes.” Her voice is annoyingly high and squeaky in her own ears. “My panties—”

“Leaving so soon?” Cersei’s green gaze falls on her. Sansa doesn’t miss the way it sweeps over her legs. “Wouldn’t you like to shower before you go, at least?”

There are three bathrooms in this house, but Sansa knows exactly what she means as she watches Cersei’s hand go from the back of her neck over her breasts. She’s holding a scarlet loofah. The shower is bigger than anyone she had ever seen. There’s more than enough room for two.

Three, even.

“I don’t bite.” Cersei tells her, when she fails to answer on account of her heart jumping around in her throat. “Although you seemed to like it when I did it last night.”

“Don’t tease her.”

Sansa nearly jumps out of her skin. Jon is leaning against the door frame. He looks even better than he did last night. His hair is all messy in a way that makes her breathing uneven. He’s dressed, thank god. Or at least more dressed than she is. He’s wearing underwear. 

Where the fuck is _her_ underwear?

“I’m not teasing, darling.” Cersei drawls. “It’s a simple question.”

Sansa looks between the two of them, unsure and a little lightheaded. “You want me to stay?” 

Jon steps forward, then, pushing off the frame. The look of sullen disinterest he wears, the one that had flickered the very first time they met, does the same now. His eyes threaten to pull her in. His voice is gentle, but firm at the same time. Commanding.

“What do you want?”

She swallows.

She knows exactly what she wants. 

Sansa unbuttons her blouse with surprisingly steady fingers, letting it fall to the floor. Jon’s gaze follows it. The room is warm, with all the steam billowing in the air, but goosebumps still rise on her arms. Not from discomfort, but anticipation. Excitement. 

Cersei laughs. It is warm, and rolling, and sultry and she really, really likes it. “Don’t keep me waiting, then.”

The spray of the water is so warm it stings at first when Sansa steps inside the shower, but Cersei’s mouth is on hers and she forgets all about anything else. Her mouth is sweet, but also demanding, and she feels like she could explode from the pressure of it. 

She’s aware of the door opening again, of rough hands on her hips and a beard chafing against her neck. That’s when Cersei pulls back, running a finger over her lower lip. 

“Turn around.”

Sansa does as she’s told, and she faces Jon. He is so close, their noses touch. There is nothing else in the world but his hand on her neck and his breath on her skin and his mouth, nearing closer and closer. At the same time his tongue enters her mouth, a slender, elegant hand slips between her legs, and she’s whimpering into the kiss, which is hungry and roving. 

“Don’t be greedy.” Cersei reprimands him, stroking her with an experienced sort of ease. Sansa is leaning into her, body trembling, anxious for release. “We’re sharing.”

Jon pulls away from her, finally. She feels she can’t breathe. For some reason, Sansa gets the feeling that he’s glaring at Cersei, but then he’s on his knees in front of her. His breath blows hot on her hip. 

“You always ruin everything when you open up your mouth.”

Cersei’s hand leaves her and Sansa actually whines. But then she’s cupping her face in her hands. “You like my mouth, don’t you little dove?”

She’s nodding, about to agree, about to do anything it takes for her to touch her again, when Jon’s mouth closes over her cunt and her leg ends up over his shoulder. A strangled gasp leaves her throat as she pulls at his hair. 

Cersei kisses her again, nipping at her lower lip. “You really wanted to leave so soon?”

Sansa shakes her head, momentarily incapable of words. Her lexicon has been rendered to moans and gasps and cries. She wants to say.  _ No. Never.  _ Instead, she reaches between Cersei’s legs, having learned a thing or two.

Cersei doesn’t moan. She sighs but it still sends satisfaction zipping down Sansa’s spine just as much as Jon on her knees in front of her does.

Sansa has morals, yes. 

But she also has needs. 

  
  



End file.
